The Burning Crash at the end of this Whole30

The entry formerly titled “Re-Entry Continues”

Stories of failure are always more fun to tell than stories of success. It’s the one redeeming quality they have over being the shittier of the two in experience. (Side note – arguably a pretty big redeeming quality, as you can tell a story again and again, but the experience of the moment passes?) Stories of success don’t do anything but either make people feel bad for not doing something similar, or inspire others to reach beyond what they thought they could personally do into a whole new and better life. Whatever, right?

I was doing so-so, slowly slipping off the Whole30 wagon. I had written this stuff:

 

Re-entry Day  (4/10)

I have Whole30 everything except the muffin I cave in and eat midmorning because a bunch of them were left in the room and one was poppyseed. Not worth it — gave me the drowsies, as I knew it would have to. Gonna have to think more than twice next time.

Re-entry Day  (4/11)

Today is strictly Whole30.

And was gonna go back and fill in the gaps and the rest later, when I found out my grandmother had passed away (more on this later. Maybe). Although she was living in Georgia at the end of her life, she’d spent most of mine (and hers too, I’m pretty sure) in Michigan, which is where her husband was buried and where everything was set for her to go, too. So I cancelled my Saturday appointments (Easter weekend and all) and made a drive.

I even packed Whole30 snacks and lunches for the ride up. And non-Whole30 trailmix for the ride home. I knew.

I knew Whole30 was over. Pretty much as soon as I crossed the Michigan state line, it was. (Partly because driving through Ohio was the worst)

Part of traveling, being a guest, hospitality, is food and eating. I was not going to be that guy who shows up to crash at the house of cousins not seen in years and then stick my nose up at any offered food or drink. Nope.

We went to Buffalo Wild Wings, and I ordered a burger. On a bun n’ urrthang. With cheese. (I did decline the very sweet looking strawberry margarita offered me by my aunt) The next morning my dad poured me a cup of coffee, and because he knows me and I’ve always taken it cream/no sugar, that’s how he made it.   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Had a beer in the afternoon. That night my dad wanted to treat me to ice-cream. Again, I could have said no, I guess. After that all bets were off. I ate like five donuts Sunday morning (at which point my dad even commented, “Man, when you go off, you go way off.” We had Mickey-Dees for dinner. I slept in in the mornings, lethargic. I did a lot of sitting, but I didn’t run. My ankles swelled up (especially after the drive). I had what I retrospectively think was a migraine* the day I drove home (which struck just as I got out of the car, and which I at this moment am suddenly realizing I should be grateful did not strike on the road…). I didn’t go blind, but I did have a headache that got worse and worse and eventually made me nauseous hours and hours later.

 

So in the world of predictable outcomes, I fell hard off the wagon and it hurt. I am now navigating toward a more reasonable middle path. I won’t really be cataloging it anymore, although I am still noticing how different foods make me feel. I used to be able to drink a whole pot of coffee by myself and feel fine, but now it makes me jittery and I have trouble sleeping. Sugar is definitely a factor in all of that. I am once again a victim of the after-lunch logi pretty often. I get sleepy in the afternoon.

The school year is headed toward it’s end (which means students are just about at their worst), and my training program is about to begin. I am scrambling to make enough money to cover myself during my training months when I won’t be able to work as much, and I’m also knee-deep in pre-work for the course. I’m also keeping up with my Couch-to-5K program (mostly), so finding the time and the energy to invest in cooking as I had before has gotten much harder. We still grocery shop pretty well, but when I’m subbing, I buy cafeteria lunch. I don’t get the cookies or puddings anymore. But when we have appetizer fiesta and other teachers bring cookies, I don’t say no. There is often regret.

 

*I used to get blinding migraines, like I would know it was coming on because I would have a spot in my vision where I couldn’t see anything. Sort of like when you look at a light and look away, except it wouldn’t fade, and if unmedicated, would slowly grow to fill more and more of my field of vision, as gradually my head began to hurt like crazy and light was impossible to bear and I became nauseated. This only happened a handful of times in my life, mostly in like middle and high school, I think once in college.